


Non-Solitude

by zkainaat



Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 04:19:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17196404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zkainaat/pseuds/zkainaat
Summary: Posted on tumblr for the prompt:Martino + boysquad at Niccolò's oral exam in June/Julyor the one where Niccolò has an idea for his oral exam but keeps it a secret until the end, Martino is a slightly nervous but rather supportive boyfriend and I contrabbandieri are there to support them both.





	Non-Solitude

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!  
> I posted this little thing a while ago on my tumblr account but, since I've just made an account on here too, why not (and let me say it: I'm so happy to see this tag filled with so many beautiful stories)

“So, don’t think I forgot about it. You still haven’t told me what’s his dissertation on.”

Martino half smiles, half rolls his eyes. It’s the third time Giovanni is asking him since they met earlier, not to mention the other thousand times he did in the past two months. For the third time today, Martino intends to remain vague.

“It’s a bit complicated to be honest, to explain it like this …” he had tried to divert their friends’ curiosity once, to which Elia had replied: “yeah, whatever you say. Knowing him, it’s going to be something weird like Polish classical music’s influence on modern society or whatever” and Luchino had said: “well, that would be cool” and Elia had told him: “what do you even know about classical music, bro? I can imagine you bringing the most obvious shit next year. _The Second World War_ …” and Luchino had scrolled his shoulders: “well, to be fair the Second World War is so cool guys, sometimes I can imagine myself fighting in it, like fuck, that must have been incredible” and Giovanni had told him to shut up and: “yeah, go fight in a war Luchino, see how fun it is to kill and get killed …” etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

The point is that Giovanni had stared at him like he does when he’s trying to understand something and Martino doesn’t know if he wants to hide his heart a bit deeper in his chest or let it all out once and for all because he always feels understood with him.

“I’m starting to think you don’t want to tell me, bro” he had told Martino then, lowering his voice so the others wouldn’t hear, chuckling softly.

 _He’s right_ , Martino had thought, he didn’t want to say, but not in the sense Giovanni was implying. The thing is that Martino still doesn’t know, and he has no intentions to let the others know about it.

It’s been forty-five days – _not that he’s counting_ – since that morning Niccolò had woken up next to him in his bed, all wide smiles since the moment he had opened his eyes, and with that voice of his still rough of sleep had said: “I’m about to let you know I finally know what to do with my dissertation” – _did he dream about this? Was he thinking about it while pretending to sleep?_ Martino still wonders about it.

He couldn’t exactly focus in that moment, too preoccupied with smiling back and kissing the freckles on his nose and all that _“romantic shit you two do”_ , quoting Elia, and that little detail of Niccolò, the nose-freckled adorable little shit, refusing to tell him the topic he had chosen.

Martino has tried everything. The utter-desperation-way ( _tell me. C’mon tell me. Please pleaseplease tell me_ ), the not-very-convincing-threatening-boyfriend-way ( _I’m going to stop talking to you if you don’t tell me. For real_ ) and the subtle-curiosity-passed-as-a-desire-to-help-way ( _I mean, I can be helpful if you tell me. You could review it with me_ ) - and to be fair to Martino, he really wanted to help too.

He had even gone too far one day, when Niccolò was too tense to play along, too tired, and had started to beg him and his voice was trembling.

“Marti, please. Just stop. Please, just stop. Don’t ask me anymore.”

Martino had felt like shit then. He had kissed him, carefully, and caressed his face. He hasn’t asked again.

 

〰

 

The point, now, is that Niccolò’s turn for the oral exam is approaching and he still hasn’t come back from the bathroom. It’s hot, too hot, the _one of the hottest day in the last one hundred and fifty years_ level of hot.

“I don’t understand why it always has to be one hundred and fifty years. Like, why not one hundred and fifty-six? Or one hundred and fifty-seven. No, it always has to be one hundred and fifty. In fifty years, it’s still going to be one hundred and fifty.” Giovanni is, apparently, quite invested in this today.

Luchino is using the flier of a newly-opened hairdresser as a fan, but it’s not doing much. They are all sitting in an empty classroom, two rooms away from the place the exams are being held, and Martino gets up occasionally to see what’s going on out there.

“Bro, not kidding, you’re making me anxious. I feel like I’m the one doing this exam today” Elia says.

The point is that Niccolò wanted to go to the bathroom alone, and he looked tired this morning, and had gotten into an argument with his mum the night before because he didn’t want anyone at his exam – anyone but Martino, of course. _“And the boys, I guess they can come, too. I like them.”_

Martino is bouncing his leg so hard that Giovanni has to put a hand on it. “He’s probably concentrating right now. And you wouldn’t be of any help like this.”

Martino nods. He focuses on Elia and Luchino talking about how exams suck and how useless and unfair they are and he can almost picture all of them out of this school for a second. Out there in the world, at university, at work, being adults. He’s not sure he wants it. He’s glad it’s not their turn yet.

“Anyway” Giovanni resumes the conversation and it’s meant for him only, “if you keep it chill, I guess you could go see how he’s doing.”

“He said he wanted to be by himself.”

“I know. You go there, see if he needs anything, if he wants company. If it works better for him to be alone, you go back. The Magic Wizard, I would like to remind you.”

Martino rolls his eyes, but smiles. “You think so?”

“I think so.”

“All right” he says, more to himself. He gets up. “Okay guys, I’m going to join Nico. I’ll be back.”

“Old pervert, don’t make him miss the exam” Elia giggles.

Martino shakes his head. “See you later.”

 

〰

 

He hurries up to the bathroom, ignoring everyone around him, teachers he doesn’t want to talk to, students and families there to support the students. All people he won’t have to face until September, not before all the sun and love and the summer light-heartedness with Niccolò he’s longing for.

He reaches the bathroom and enters it slowly, holding the door open behind him.

“Nì?”

Niccolò is leaning against a window. He looks up only when Martino calls him, a glint of tension in his eyes and a little smile on his lips.

“Hey.”

“Hey. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. I can leave if you want.”

Niccolò looks at Martino and his eyes lose a bit of the tension, they shine with a spark of fondness.

There have been arguments over Martino’s apprehension in the past few months, days in which Niccolò have accused him to treat him like a baby when he senses that something’s off, and Martino have taken it too personally to admit his worries.

The truth, as they ended up agreeing with so much love and understanding for each other that they were left lost and breathless, is that they can both be wrong sometimes and it’s not the end of the world.

If some people strive for greatness, they strive for communication, and that’s the best achievement in their relationship. Even when he feels like he’s failing, Martino never stop trying.

“Do you want me to go?”

Niccolò shakes his head. “No.”

“So you want me to stay?”

Niccolò beams at him. “Nope.”

Martino is laughing too. “What’s the antidote to this very impossible situation, then?”

Niccolò points to the door and his eyes get soft.

“Would you want to just take a walk with me?”

 

〰

 

So, for a good half an hour, they just walk back and forth through the corridor, slowly, holding each other.

“We look like an elderly couple who’s been together for like, fifty years, on their daily walk to the grocery store.” Niccolò is fully giggling.

Martino loves it, and he thinks that he wouldn’t mind growing old like that, beside him while they walk through the streets, and have people come up to them only to say: “you’ve been together for so long, it’s so beautiful!”

Not that he’s seeking approval, but he would love for people to find Niccolò as beautiful as he does. Niccolò who plays Chopin on the piano, Niccolò who loves to write stories, Niccolò whose head is filled with colours.

They walk together and they look out the windows, contemplating a world outside that seems so distant right now, a future that is awaiting them patiently.

“Are you okay?” Martino asks, and Niccolò nods instantly.

“I’m okay” he says. His eyes speak the truth.

 

〰

 

They come back only when the wait is over and Niccolò is next on the examinees’ list. They all enter the classroom together, him and Martino, who is patting on his back gently, ahead, Giovanni, Elia and Luchino right behind.

Martino watches him as he sits in front of the commission, all his papers in hand. He listens to him as he introduces himself – name, surname - _“Fares. I’ve never heard it before”_ _“Yes, it’s quite rare.”_

He follows every gesture, or at least what he can see from behind, and takes a deep breath when the exam finally starts.

“My dissertation is on …” Niccolò clears his throat and Martino almost does the same.

“My dissertation …” he repeats, “it’s about the _Non-Solitude_.”

“Non-Solitude?”

Martino’s heart skips a beat.

“Yes” Niccolò says. He gathers himself for a second. “I’ve noticed that solitude is one of the most popular topics for a dissertation, and I can see why. Actually, everything that we’ve studied this final year, the Twentieth Century in particular, is culturally well intertwined with the idea of solitude. Progress first, and then the Great Depression, the two World Wars and all its consequences have put men in a state of alienation, incapable to find their place, lost and confused in a world that was changing so fast, witnessing the worst crimes imaginable, losing their collective identity, being brought to individualism. However, I’ve realised that there has been a counter-culture made to oppose all that, and that’s what I wanted to talk about, how the Italian and the worldwide cultural heritage managed to find an escape, an antidote … on how intellectuals of any kind focused on bringing people back together, just to say that we live in a society and we’re not alone, we are all tied by this indivisible string …”

Niccolò keeps talking, he takes confidence. Martino is listening to him so carefully he forgets where he is. He feels the others’ eyes on him, and looks to his left for a second only to see Giovanni smile at him. He smiles back. He smiles so wide his face almost hurt. He watches Niccolò’s back, the way he shifts on his chair, gently like he always is.

And then it happens. Niccolò is stretching his arm on his side slowly, then he bends it behind the chair’s back. He opens the palm of his hand just a little and stay like that to make sure Martino can see it.

There’s a little string between Niccolò fingers, a little red string he’s holding tight.

Martino thinks that his eyes are getting wet, but he’s not sure anymore.

He just imagines himself with a red string long enough so he can make a tight knot and throw it in the sky. He and Niccolò would climb on it, hold each other tight, and travel right to the universe.

Then they would come back, together, because they’re getting older and there are a lot of walks to take on this earth.

 

〰


End file.
